Insufferable
by PwnedByPineapple
Summary: "You are a most vexing child, Earl Phantomhive." "And you are an equally vexing man, Mr. Holmes, so I suppose that makes us even." With poor Watson caught in the middle. One Holmes is bad enough. SH movie!verse.


**Title:** Insufferable  
><strong>Author:<strong> PwnedByPineapple  
><strong>Summary:<strong> _"You are a most vexing child, Earl Phantomhive." "And you are an equally vexing man, Mr. Holmes, so I suppose that makes us even." With poor Watson caught in the middle. One Holmes is bad enough. SH movie!verse._  
><strong>RatingWarning(s):** K+; none  
><strong>Notes:<strong> I come up with a great deal of crossover ideas on a regular basis; this one happens to be a personal favorite. Not quite sure how this would fit in with the murder mystery arc, however. Perhaps Holmes and Watson were there? But it is now firmly in my crossover headcanon that, friendly rivals at the moment notwithstanding, Ciel becomes Holmes's protégé, after a fashion.

- The lovely GI-Ace of deviantART, on my request, did some fanart that fits this fic perfectly: gi-ace(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Raffle-2nd-Prize-PwnedByPineapple-282972444

**Disclaimer: This fangirl owns nothing.**

* * *

><p><strong>i.<strong>

"-and that, dear friends, is how this heinous crime was committed. All of the evidence can be found in the butcher's shop itself."

The man completed this delivery with a flourish of his hands, gesturing to the shop and ducking his head in an important nod. His near-theatrical performance, so obviously staged, was greeted by a few sounds of admiration, even some scattered applause from the onlookers.

And from the edge of the crowd, Ciel Phantomhive glared. "How many times, Sebastian?"

"Three, I believe."

"Three times," Ciel repeated, gritting his teeth. "This is beginning to annoy me."

The butler beside him cocked his head, frowning delicately. "If he's getting the job done so efficiently, it _is_ less work for you to concern yourself with."

"That isn't the point," Ciel snapped, folding thin arms. "It is work that Her Majesty gives to me and me alone. I can't have some upstart hedging in on it without my consent. It doesn't do well for my image." His gaze hadn't strayed from said upstart, who was now answering questions with the air of someone very self-satisfied. The sight of him really was beginning to grate on Ciel's nerves.

"Sebastian," the boy continued abruptly and drew his butler's curious eye - the name had the ring of an order to it. "Invite this Sherlock Holmes and his partner to the townhouse for a meeting tomorrow."

Sebastian's lips curled upward the slightest bit, but he did not question it. "As you wish," he said, with a bow of his head. "Four o'clock?"

"That's fine," Ciel said shortly, and only the slightest rustle marked the demon's swift departure from his side.

**ii.**

Dr. John Watson quite abruptly found himself face to face with a tall and impeccably dressed man.

It was a day like any other day. Holmes had latched on to a case, solved it in that peculiar manner of his, and was now displaying his intellect for the world - or, at least, the inquisitive passers-by and the rather miffed members of the Yard - to see. Nothing very out of the ordinary there, though as of late Holmes had been a tad more flashy and active than was usual.

But this, as Watson was soon to discover, was something different. The suited man bowed, then gave Watson a pleasant smile. "Are you a friend of Mr. Holmes?" he asked, and there was something in his silky voice that was... off, to Watson's ears. But the doctor brushed such foolish notions aside; he didn't even know the man.

"Yes," Watson sighed. "Did he do something illegal?"

The suited man laughed softly. "No, nothing like that. I simply do not wish to bother him while he is... otherwise engaged. I am a butler for the House Phantomhive. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

Who hadn't? Funtom was an emergent, highly successful toy and confectionery company... and then, of course, there were the rumors; whispers of darker things that surrounded such a family, recent tragedy that Watson hadn't paid all that much attention to. Still, one did not live in Britain without knowing the name Phantomhive. The doctor nodded, his eyes narrowing. "What would the Phantomhives want with myself or Holmes?" was his rather wary question.

The butler extended a small white card. Watson hadn't even seen him pull it out, but he took it all the same, giving a cursory glance to the official stamp and the address engraved in silver. "My master, the Earl of Phantomhive, extends an invitation to the both of you," the butler said, "to join him at his townhouse tomorrow at four o'clock. He would like to meet with you, and he _sincerely _hopes you will accept his offer."

There was a level of suggestion in the man's voice that made it tantamount to an order; one did not go about turning down nobles lightly. "I don't believe we have any prior obligations," said Watson, because Holmes would likely refuse to speak to him should he decline such an unexpectedly interesting offer. "It would be an honor."

The butler's amiable smile had not yet faltered. "My master will be most pleased," he said. "Shall I arrange for transportation for you?"

"No need," Watson replied. "We'll make our own arrangements."

"Very well," said the butler. "We shall await you at four o'clock tomorrow, then. Good day, Dr. Watson."

And with that, he was gone, vanished so suddenly that if Watson hadn't known any better, he would have said that there was something supernatural about it. He frowned and looked down at the card once more, intrigued despite himself. Just what could the head of House Phantomhive want with them? To solve a case, perhaps? Watson looked up, scanning the area for any sign of the butler or what could potentially be the butler's master. But no one stood out. There was Holmes, there were the onlookers, there was the Yard - there was no sign of the mysterious butler or perhaps a nobleman. Such a pair was nowhere to be found.

**iii.**

"Really, Watson, this is most exciting. I do believe you can count this among your greatest accomplishments."

Watson pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. He was honestly beginning to regret this supposed accomplishment, now. "Somehow, I can't take that as a compliment."

"But you did so well!"

"All I did was accept," Watson said waspishly.

"And you did it grandly." Holmes really did seem to be enthused about this whole business. His snark had reached new levels of maddening as the carriage ride progressed, and now that they were very near their destination, he had grown rather jumpy. In fact, he seemed almost... nervous. It wasn't readily apparent - indeed, more like carefully hidden - but Watson knew his friend well, and he knew certain signs.

"Holmes," he said shrewdly, "are you hiding something?"

"What a remarkably astute observation, my friend," Holmes answered in a irritatingly nonchalant fashion, his very pose, reclined lazily in the seat opposite Watson, mirroring his tone. "I _am _a man of untold mystery."

"You _know _what I mean."

"Do I? You are the one who seems to be the man of genius today, after all."

Watson almost retorted, then thought better of it. If Holmes wanted to keep little secrets, then let him. There was no getting answers out of the stubborn man when he was in this kind of mood, anyway.

Still... Watson resolved to keep an eye on him.

**iv.**

"Welcome to our humble abode. The master is in the parlor, if you will allow me to lead you there."

It was the butler from yesterday, holding out a hand for their coats and still wearing that endlessly pleasant smile. And as it had been yesterday, Watson found that something was off about him, something that made the doctor almost uneasy. He shook himself slightly as he handed his coat to the man; he was being ridiculous, almost paranoid. No doubt from spending too much time in Holmes's company.

Holmes dragged his eyes away from studying the interior of the townhouse to studying the butler with the same intensity. Watson was almost moved to apologize for his friend's rude behavior. "Thank you, er..." he began, as the butler took Holmes's coat as well, enduring the other's scrutiny with unusual serenity. "Sorry, you didn't give your name yesterday."

The butler inclined his head. "My name is Sebastian," he informed them. "Please, follow me."

As Holmes and Watson fell into step behind Sebastian, Holmes leaned in uncomfortably close to shoot Watson a whisper. "There is something strange about that butler," he murmured.

"Not here," Watson hissed, his worst fears confirmed - Holmes was rubbing off on him. "For God's sake, we're in a nobleman's house."

Holmes opened his mouth to reply nonetheless and shut it almost immediately.

They'd entered the parlor. And the master of House Phantomhive was within.

Watson had entertained several ideas about what such an individual would be like. None of his imaginings came remotely close.

The boy's good eye came to rest on them for a moment, appraising; the other eye was obscured by an eyepatch. He scrutinized them briefly, then stood. Thin, well-dressed, and aristocratic in his very aura, there was absolutely no doubting that he did indeed possess such a station... but Watson certainly had not been expecting a child.

"Welcome," the boy said, and his voice had a practiced charming quality to it. He offered them a smile that was all business. "I am Ciel Phantomhive. I thank you for accepting my invitation." He gestured to the chairs that had been artfully arranged in a semicircle, any one of them most likely costing more than the entirety of the carriage that had brought the duo there. "Won't you please sit down?"

**v.**

"Do you know what I do?"

It was Holmes who answered the boy's question, pausing in his enjoyment of the tea and scones Sebastian had set out to give Ciel an appraising glance. "You are the Queen's watchdog," he said. "You control England's underworld. Quite a large task for someone so small, isn't it?"

Ciel scowled at the last statement, but chose to ignore it. "Very good, Mr. Holmes. The common people aren't generally aware that such a position even exists."

Holmes put on an affronted face. "My boy, I am hardly common."

"I'll ask you not to refer to me with such familiarity," Ciel said with a twitch.

Watson was growing tired of the need to apologize on his friend's behalf. He took charge of the subject before Holmes could let it devolve, because it honestly intrigued him. The boy truly was very small and youthful - he couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve. "Forgive me," he said, "but... you seem quite young. And... to have such a position..." There were dark rumors surrounding House Phantomhive, certainly, but Watson could not get over the fact that this was a _child_. Or the fact that Holmes had known and not told him. Watson _knew_ he had been hiding something.

"You are wondering how I came into such a position?" Ciel gave a small shrug, taking a sip of tea. "It's simply, really. My family is dead. I am the only remaining Phantomhive in name."

"And... why are you revealing this to us? I can't imagine this is information you give out to just anyone." Watson was beginning to wonder in earnest if Ciel indeed wanted them to work a case for him.

This was disproved a few seconds later.

Ciel smiled. It was not the nicest of smiles. "And so we arrive at the matter," he said, and his smile slowly faded, to be replaced by a rather irritated expression. His eyes darted back to fix on Holmes. "Are you aware that you've interfered in _three _recent cases that the Queen has given to me?"

Holmes's eyes widened; it was actually, in Watson's estimation, a convincing expression for those who didn't know the man well. "I was not aware," said Holmes. "You're welcome."

"I wasn't thanking you," Ciel snapped. "It's an annoyance, and I find it hard to believe that it wasn't planned."

"I assure you, my boy, it was purely coincidental." Holmes smirked when Ciel twitched again.

"Coincidence or not, stay out of the underworld," said Ciel, shifting in his seat and giving them - or rather, Holmes - a very pointed glare. "I am also the Queen's watchdog because I have the means of handling dangerous circumstances, and I will not be responsible for meddling civilians who get themselves injured or killed in such situations."

"Or perhaps you fear the competition," said Holmes, his tone suggestive of a challenge.

The line of Ciel's mouth grew even thinner. "If I fear anything," he said, a dangerous edge to his voice, "it is most certainly not _you_."

"Are you aware that doing consultative detective work is my job?"

"And I'm sure there are plenty of normal cases in the Yard for you to take on. In fact, I encourage you to. I'm sure it irritates them greatly."

Holmes set his teacup down decisively. "Normality can be very dull," he said in return. "And all I can see is the Queen's watchdog trying to protect his territory from the same... irritation."

Ciel scowled again. "What _I_ see is an arrogant man treading where he shouldn't," he replied warningly.

"Oh, how very intimidating. Are you trying to threaten me?"

"I assure you, Mr. Holmes, I don't bother with threats."

The conversation was devolving at an alarming rate. Why did this always happen? As the two of them, man and boy, continued to exchange barbed words, neither of them backing down, Watson opened his mouth to intervene... and found Sebastian in his way, casually bending down to pour him more tea. How had the man moved from behind Ciel so fast?

"I wouldn't interfere with them," Sebastian murmured, giving Watson a reassuring smile. "It is just a matter of asserting authority and mental superiority. In fact, I think it will be rather interesting to see who will win. Don't you agree?"

Watson subsided with a frown. "I suppose," he said, his eyes shifting between Holmes and Phantomhive. It belatedly occurred to him that it might have been ridiculous for Holmes to engage in such a contest of will with a boy... but then again, it was painfully obvious that Ciel was no ordinary child.

"... and you are simply afraid that I will ruin your image," Holmes stated with a knowing air.

It did seem that he'd hit a sore spot. Ciel's eyes flashed. "Afraid of a pompous idiot who thinks he's smart? Don't make me laugh."

"Remind me again who did the solving on those cases you're so worked up over," Holmes said. "Oh, yes... it was me. Clearly, only one of us is doing the better job."

"Oh," said Ciel, his voice dripping with delicate sarcasm; it was obvious that he was nearing the end of his patience. "A grown man like yourself, supposedly besting a child in a measure of intellect. You must feel so accomplished."

Holmes almost answered with an affirmative, but he caught himself in time and regarded Ciel with narrowed eyes. "... You are a most vexing child, Earl Phantomhive."

"And you are an equally vexing man, Mr. Holmes, so I suppose that makes us even." There was a note of finality in Ciel's voice. He rose to his feet, glaring down at Holmes before shifting his attention to Watson, relaxing his gaze somewhat. "I don't know how you put up with him, Dr. Watson."

"I'm not quite sure myself," said Watson, also getting to his feet. It was a clear signal that the meeting was done, that Ciel had had enough of them, and quite frankly, Watson couldn't blame him for that. "I apologize for any grievances we may have caused."

Holmes snorted, muttering something in the background, and Ciel pointedly ignored him. "All I ask is that you avoid dealing with the underworld," the boy said. "I will not tolerate any interference unless I invite it."

As Sebastian appeared with their coats, Watson tried to decide who had won... and found that he couldn't quite figure it out. Sebastian's pleasantly unreadable expression didn't give it away, either. "I'll make sure of it," the doctor said grimly, not sure if that would be possible. Making Holmes do something - or not do something - was not the easiest of tasks, and once the man had set his mind on a goal... well, it was best to just go along with it.

"Please, follow me," the butler said.

Watson fell into step behind Sebastian and was not surprised to hear Holmes, who always had to have the last word, speak up again. "I'll try not to infringe on your territory any further," Holmes said, in a way that made it blatantly obvious he would do the exact opposite. "Since it makes you so... nervous."

"Hardly," Ciel snapped. "Please, leave."

"Gladly," Holmes returned smoothly, and Watson wondered why hitting his head on a wall seemed to be such an inviting prospect all of a sudden.

**vi.**

The townhouse had become blessedly quiet once more. Ciel had taken a seat back in the parlor to finish the last of his tea; his gaze was fixated on the carpet, and he remained deep in thought as Sebastian cleaned up. "Well?" the demon asked, shifting the teacups and plates onto a rolling tray. The inquiry drew Ciel out of his reverie, and he glanced up to find Sebastian eyeing him expectantly.

Ciel considered the question and all of its possible meanings for a moment. "I like the doctor," he said at last, dryly.

Sebastian chuckled, accepting the last empty teacup that Ciel handed him. "And the other?"

"Clearly very intelligent and arrogant. Not the type to listen to anything I might tell him."

"Your conclusion?"

Ciel gave a little huff, the corners of his lips tugging upward. "I will have to keep an eye on that one. Did you do as I asked?"

Sebastian smiled, placed a hand on his chest, and bowed. "Of course," he said, and it seemed that his eyes were glowing in anticipation.

**vii.**

The carriage was rolling back to Baker Street, having been paid off to wait for them outside the townhouse, and when Watson tried to bring himself to speak, to convince Holmes to stick to more regular cases, he couldn't even start.

Holmes was gazing out the window with an unusually serious expression on his face, lost in deep thought. And in looking at this, Watson found that every time he opened his mouth to begin, he closed it almost immediately. Something was clearly bothering Holmes, and Watson knew it was the same something that had infected the man before they'd arrived at the townhouse. He was tempted to ask - oh, he was sorely tempted - but he kept silent. Because if he knew Holmes like he thought he did...

"There was a case..." Holmes said suddenly, to no surprise at all from Watson, "... that I couldn't solve." His gaze hadn't shifted from the window, but it certainly had shifted in concentration. "I have to admit, it was through my own fault that I couldn't. I walked away from it, you see."

Watson frowned. "That isn't like you."

"No. I suppose it isn't." Holmes gave a small shake of his head, his eyes following the passing buildings. "The case... it was the murder of Lord and Lady Phantomhive."

Watson's eyes widened at the implications of this - they were rather startling. "You worked that case?"

"Indeed. I worked it solo, a little over a year ago. But..." here Holmes's expression darkened, and his eyes at last moved from the window, to rest briefly on his friend's countenance, "I could find nothing, Watson. _Nothing. _There was literally not a trace left behind, no trail to follow... nothing that could lead me to the perpetrators. I hit dead end after dead end. And when the boy turned up alive in the middle of my investigation... well, I couldn't bring myself to approach him."

Holmes rarely worked solo; he seemed to delight in causing Watson endless amounts of superficial trouble, and so Watson knew that this case had been something that he considered dangerous, a serious matter for him. Serious enough that Watson almost didn't need to ask the question that left his mouth anyway. "Why not?"

Two fingers were raised to Holmes's temple; he was looking down at the floor of the carriage now, brows furrowed. "I hadn't been the one to bring him back," he said slowly. "I'd failed him, Watson. I didn't even _know_ that he was alive until he returned. And it hadn't been my hand that brought him back. I couldn't face him with that knowledge. And without any knowledge he could give me... I couldn't make it any further in that case." Holmes sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat. "Hubris can be a crippling thing, my friend."

Watson was silent for several moments, gazing at his partner. "That's why you've been taking all these strange cases recently," he said, in grim realization. Now he understood. "And why you've been more, ah... flamboyant, as of late. It's all been tied to Ciel Phantomhive. You've been trying to draw his attention."

"It worked splendidly, didn't it? I seem to have him thoroughly annoyed."

"You didn't tell him a thing."

"I must admit, I experienced a very rare phenomenon known as 'hesitation'. But perhaps I will bring the matter up, eventually." Holmes grinned in that infuriating way of his, that told Watson he was hiding even more and on the verge of revealing whatever it was. It was quite the mood change. "After all, I have the feeling that we'll be working with him in the future." He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and withdrew a folded letter.

Watson stared at it - more specifically, at the stamp that sealed it. It was the same as the one on the card Sebastian had given him yesterday. "Is that...?"

"It is," Holmes said, peeling the seal back and unfolding the letter. He scanned it over briefly, then handed it to Watson. "See for yourself."

Watson accepted the proffered paper and studied the words it contained:

_A murder took place on the East End last night. It may have ties to a prominent nobleman and an underground child slavery ring. The Queen has ordered me to investigate with all haste._

_I know of your background. I know what you are capable of. And so I ask you:_

_Care to join me? I must warn you, I play the game ruthlessly. Let's see if you can keep up. And who knows... maybe you'll teach me something along the way. Or perhaps it will be the other way around._

_May the best man win,_  
><em>Ciel Phantomhive<em>

Watson scanned over the letter a second time, just to be sure that his eyes were not playing tricks on him; satisfied that they were not, he heaved a sigh. It was Holmes, part two, and he wasn't quite sure whether to be frightened or not. "This surprises me less than it should."

Holmes smiled as he took the letter back. "A vexing child, indeed," he murmured and slipped a matchbox out of another pocket, flicking a match to life and holding the letter aloft.


End file.
